Once it was just an innocent pick and shovel,
not much effort not much trouble,
Populations grew and demands exploded,
machines invented, more fuel was needed.
Trees were cut, factories built, coal discovered,
Smoke stacks billowed, still it was not enough!
And populations doubled.
  
Holes were drilled, to reach down deep,
"Black Gold" they said would be so cheap,
light the homes and run the ships,
drive the trains and keep the peace.  
Still it was not enough!
And the populations doubled!

**** the Earth, she can take it,
there is always more to exploit,
more to shamelessly profit from it.

Deplete the surface, Oh hell,
just go down deeper,
Oil all gone, well how 'bout shale?

A little recipe for disaster:
Drill multitudes of holes miles deep,
inject under extreme pressure,
thousands of gallons of water
imported from some great distance.
"Truck it in, ***** the expense!",
Add tons of harsh chemicals into this
volatile, polluting mix.
Blast deep strata with this brew,
until solid rock does crack,
Shale into gas and liquid gold,
Then bring it to the surface.

Now never mind the consequence,
That near by ground water as it flows
from out of household taps,
can be set afire by just the touch
of the lighted flame,
from a single just struck match.

And those now huge cracks deep
within the mantel of the Earth,
what of them I say,
Well not far below those cracks
is our molten lava core,
Just looking for escape.

Respected Geologists warn us of the risks,
Triggering quakes and huge volcano rips,
Yet the Fat Cats and their government,
still assures us, "never mind the consequence".

Ridiculous yes, perhaps suicidal,
As if the Captain of a submarine allowed his crew
to pound large nails into the body of his boat,
To hang up pictures of the Pope.

Again ridiculous you say,
Who would do such a insane thing?
The same **** guys that once owned the crews,
that swung that old pick and shovel,

A father to son inheritance,
by the same thieves, that manipulate our economy,
Riding the Bull up Wall Street and back down again,
All at their selfish greedy whims,
Never considering their corruption as any particular sin.

Those one percent spoilers who generation to generation,
continue to profit from their latest Big Business Gyration.
Even inventing a new name for this particular indiscretion,
Never even wincing, they straight faced lie with conviction,
and say hence,
"Hey folks, it's called Fracking, and you shouldn't mind
the consequence", 

So, it's profits over common sense,
The Fat Cats win again?  
My response to that,
Perhaps someone should FRACK them!

Now as to this just read little parable,
Less you dismiss it as some environmental fable.
The moral here is,
You glutinous greedy Big Oil Boys,
need to push back from the table!

you found me
in a second hand store
on Lincoln Avenue

you bought me
for nine dollars and tax because
you thought I was a mandolin

you told Tryone, the clerk
who would sell me into slavery, your
wife always wanted one

you took me home to your
twelfth story apartment; I discovered
your wife was gone many years

but her photo on the living
room wall got to see me, and hear
your lament:

you wished you would have
found me seasons sooner--but my
strings were rusted even then

my last song played at a bar mitzvah
before your hair turned white, before
your wife's many colored regrets

you played me but once and didn't
like what I had to say--you tossed me
from your balcony to the street

I made the same flight your wife did,
landed in the same spot; yes, I suspect she was  
more a disappointed music lover than you

a roadkill feast, this doe that met truck bumper the black night before

now in the Texas sun, talons and beaks make easy work of eyeballs and entrails

the asphalt a convenient griddle, slow cooking dead deer, while the ravenous birds dine

somewhere in the brush, a childless mother, with no incantation to bring her baby back

this creature without words only senses a void--******* no longer gnawed and ******

what mourning for this loss, now attended to by buzzards fast filling their guts

until I come upon them, my own bumper approaching at warp speed

my metal beast to avenge this desecration
with a twist of my wrist, a turn of tires

fast from the red road a flapping of blue-black wings--all but one escapes my wrath

he took too long to take flight, unaware my grill could **** with such impunity

a simple twist of the wrist, a bump, a thump, and one less vulture feeds on the dead

above him, his brethren wait, riding cool currents -- my execution but a brief deterrent to their wake

You pulled me in tighter
and calmly whispered to me
how scared you were
of going any further
because you didn't want to
fall victim to seduction
and lose control because
you love control.

The fabric usually feels the same
a cloth that remains soft
similar to everyday
until, perhaps, a stain
a rip, a tear

I would love to wear the world
as was before all this
but perhaps my prior idiocy
is why we remember

I think
I think in buds
that root
and sometimes
blossom with you

but don’t get cute about it